What Goes Around, Comes Around
by upriserseven
Summary: Series of One-Shots. Mostly Jac's POV. Set after 'What Goes Around'.
1. Light

**Author's Note: **okay, so this is the first one-shot from Jac's POV set after 'What Goes Around'. I'm sure it won't be the last. This is just a simple one that doesn't focus too much on what happened, just scans it all.

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I wake up in my hospital bed, cold and alone, a slight glow coming in through the blinds at my window. I resent that light. That light represents everything I don't want. It reminds me that the world exists outside of my room. That I'm lying here, in blinding pain despite the medication. Every moment I'm awake, the overbearing urge is to burst into tears. A small part of me wishes Michael hadn't come to me. That I'd been left in that car. That he hadn't been able to find me in time. I struggle to understand what I've got left to care about. A career that still won't make me happy. A pathetic and schoolgirl-esque unrequited love. A man who'll never care about me, and who's care I don't even deserve. An empty and lonely flat. No family. No friends. Nothing.

I pick my watch up from my bedside table and stare at it until the numbers come into focus. 2am? I know I won't be able to get back to sleep. I instantly regret my attempts to sit up, as pain shoots through my body. I'm not bleeding. Good sign I guess. I lie back and rethink everything I shouldn't. Why did she want me to be alone so badly? Why would she do that? If she thinks about it every day, why did she do it? How could I have been so stupid to ever forgive her? Ever want her back in my life? Why would I even do that? Me. Jac Naylor. Cold hearted bitch. Ice queen. Melted at the thought of having her mummy back? Getting all emotional because I thought she'd remembered my birthday? Giving her a kidney? I opened myself up and actually, literally gave her a piece of myself. God knows I'll regret that for the rest of my life.

It pains me. The whole situation. The fact that I, technically, have a family out there somewhere. My granddad. A sister. Growing up, I always wanted a little sister. Now that I know she exists, I can't stand the thought of her. Thinking of her actually makes me feel ill. Some girl who is inextricably linked to me. I wonder if I should have spoken to her. Found out her name. Found out a little about her. At least, given her my side of the story. Told her what her mother is like.

I start to think of every screw up. Big or small. Everything could be blamed on her. It's too easy. It's just too easy to believe that she's responsible for the mess in my life. For my trust issues, for my lack of emotion, for all of it. I don't want to give her that much responsibility, but surely there must be a link? There must be something.  
Only now do I become aware of the fact that I'm not alone in the room, and only because he makes a small noise as he sleeps. Michael must've told him I was here. I can't believe he'd come. I don't say anything. I don't wake him up. I just sit and watch him sleep for a while, my pain seemingly disappearing just at the sight of him, the comfort of his presence lulling me back to sleep.

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**A/N: **reviews would make me a very happy bunny.


	2. Pain

**Author's Note:** this is... a little different, I think. It's quite angsty, and it delves into Jac's emotions a little more. I still can't stop thinking/writing about this episode. I don't think I ever will. I'm still frequently re-watching it, and I'm going to keep writing one-shots for this whenever structured ideas pop into my head. I hope you like this one, it's a little dark, but I'm quite proud of it, even if I say so myself. I always like to know what you think, so reviewing is lovely.

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Pain. It's one of those words that people overuse. Like love. Or depressed. A scrape on the knee is not real pain. Two weeks isn't real love. Being sad is not the same as being depressed. Once you experience the real thing, you notice how often these words are used. You'll start to get annoyed at those who use them frequently. Once you notice the overuse, you can't help but hate it. Hate. Another overused word. Lucky me, I know exactly what these things feel like.

Pain. Pain is knowing that you've never been wanted, or needed. Knowing that your own mother wanted you alone so badly that she'd lie to everyone around you, and abandon you at age twelve. Pain is opening yourself up, literally and figuratively, only to be pushed aside once again. Pain is never getting the chance to know yourself, because you're too busy trying to understand the actions others. Pain is not being able to think of a single person who truly cares for you. Pain is having no friends or family to speak of. Pain is the emptiness that comes with not even having yourself to count on.

Love? Love is easier to recognize in it's absence. The feeling of knowing that nobody will ever match up. Knowing that you don't want to wake up to anybody new, don't want anybody else's arm wrapped around you, don't want anybody else's touch on your skin, don't want anybody else to wipe away your tears, and don't want anybody else's name on your lips. Love is when you find yourself thinking of them for no reason, when you can't concentrate when they're around. When you can't think without them, but are distracted when you're with them. Love also seems to be the main source of my pain.

Depression is an interesting one. Depression is the feeling that nothing in your life has meaning. That you have no meaning. That you couldn't get out of bed even if you wanted to. That you may aswell stay home today, because everyone else would prefer if you weren't there. It's that feeling that you probably wouldn't even be better off dead, because that'd just be selfish. Depression is when a glimpse of hope isn't a comfort. When the light ahead doesn't inspire you to walk ahead. I'd like to say that love is also the root of my depression, but I'm the root of my depression. I'm probably the cause of my own pain, too.

Hatred is the one that's the hardest to identify. Where is that line? How do you know that you hate something? How do you separate that from dislike? For me, I didn't know the meaning of hatred until I saw him hurting. And then I knew. I knew that I didn't just dislike her, I hated her. I hated her for what she did to him, for not appreciating her chance with him. But more to the point, I hated her for making me realise that I'd been no different. I hate myself above all else, for what I did, for how he felt, for everything.

The worst thing about these emotions isn't when you can't control them. It's not when you wish you didn't feel them, it's not when you're perfectly fine with feeling them. It's when you feel them all because of yourself. It's when they're not beneficial, but they're not maladaptive. It's when they just sit there, and they just linger inside you. It's when you know that the pain's not going anywhere, the love with never be returned, the depression will live in you forever, and the hatred hurts nobody but yourself.


End file.
